


Safe Place

by slutbumwalla



Series: Safe [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8502898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slutbumwalla/pseuds/slutbumwalla
Summary: There's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about your life. Except that, once in a while, you'd get a random visit from the Winter Soldier.





	

Sundays were typically your lazy day, so there was nothing unusual about the fact that you were sprawled on your couch, football on your TV playing as background noise as you scrolled through your phone. What WAS unusual was the explosion of yaps coming from the back patio as your dog let loose a volley of barks.

“What on earth are you barking at, buddy?” you call out, rising to investigate. The silhouette of a hulking male form standing just inside your kitchen door almost makes you scream, but the fear vanishes in less than an instant as you recognize who it is.

“Jesus, Bucky!” You wave him in as you move past him, shushing your dog until he retreats to his little dog house out back. Sliding the door shut, you turn, a wary expression on your face. Bucky hasn’t moved much – now he’s standing on the other side of your tiny kitchen, looking equally wary.

“Happen to be in town?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, moving past him again to pad back into the living room, where you take a seat at the far end of the couch.

“Sorry about the back door protocol,” he murmurs lamely, “I…don’t want to cause you any problems.”

He’s standing in the kitchen still, unsure of his welcome. You sigh and motion for him to have a seat while also unconsciously grabbing a throw pillow to hug. A tiny barrier to keep you safe. “I suppose I’d be more shocked if you ever just rang my doorbell.”

He gives a short smile as he takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. It’s silent for a few beats as you both absentmindedly stare at the football game. He probably doesn’t even like football, you muse, what with his busy career as a ruthless assassin and all. You don’t imagine he has too many Sundays to spend eating chips in front of the TV. “Normal” isn’t exactly his M.O.

It’s always awkward when he shows back up, and you never know what it is that makes him come calling at any given time. Sometimes he’ll stop in and give you a cryptic message, or a package to keep safe. Other times…well. You’ll have to wait and see if this is one of those other times. You’ve been burned by making assumptions before.

“Are you well?” you ask, to break the silence.

His head bobs from side to side, neither a yes nor a no. “More or less…” he concedes. He’s sat hunched over, staring at his interlaced fingers, not making eye contact.

“Do you have bad news for me?” you ask, not ungently. 

His brow furrows as he shakes his head, “No, no…nothing like that.” He finally looks up, although not at you. He’s surveying your house. “That’s new.” He says matter of factly, pointing at a painting. 

You relax just looking at the painting, a surreal dreamscape that reminded you of a soothing lullaby. “It is,” you say dreamily, unconsciously losing a little of the stiffness in your shoulders. When your eyes return to him he’s staring at you, his intense blue gaze sending a hot prickle of self-consciousness through you. Of all of the days for him to drop in, you’re glad it was on a day you’d showered and put on fresh clothes. A lot of times on Sunday you were dirty hair and sweatpants city. 

“What do you need?” you ask. Your response to being made self-conscious was almost always bluntness. 

“I just, uhhh…” he rubs his eyes, buying time, before resuming his examination of his clasped hands. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Ah.” You say, not sure what he means. You spring up off the couch, needing something to do with yourself. “Tea? Water? I’ve got some-” you’re stopped short when his arm snaps out to stop you moving past him back into the kitchen. The way he’s looking at you stops your breath. Clearly this is going to be one of those “other” visits you’d been afraid to hope for. 

“Yes?” you ask. Your chest is so tight it seems like the loudest sound in the room is your pounding heart. 

He doesn’t say anything, he just pulls you towards him until you have no choice but land in his lap. He raises his other hand to brush a lock of hair from your face. Now you’re the one who can’t make eye contact. 

“I’ve missed you.” He murmurs, running his fingers down the side of your face until he can hook under your chin and bring your face up to meet his gaze. 

“Oh.” You say, lamely. Then, realizing that you’re already sitting in his lap as he caresses your face, you’re not exactly misreading the situation and he, in fact, might be waiting for you to display some sort of reciprocal behavior. You move your hands up his arms, hesitantly, until you’re cradling his face. His gaze remains steadily on you as you lightly run a thumb over his stubble, stopping at the divot in his chin under his full bottom lip. With the slightest movement, he dips his head to gently kiss the pad of your thumb. 

At that, you melt. Your lips meet for the first time in months and he smells and tastes exactly like you remembered. You press yourself to him and feel him do the same as he wraps his arms around you to bring you closer. His stubble burns, but you don’t mind. You bury your fingers in his hair as he leans forward, into you. A moan slips out of you and he breaks the kiss, a smug look on his face. “Miss me, too?” 

You smile, nuzzle his nose and kiss him again, “Not even a little bit.”

He growls and attacks your mouth with his, pressing you harder to him, causing another moan to escape from your lips.

“Liar,” he mutters, and then continues the attack on your mouth. 

You’re not sure how long you remain on the couch assaulting each others faces, hands grappling over each others bodies before he decides to carry you into your bedroom, but eventually he’s stretched out on top of you, nuzzling your neck as his hands roam deliciously over you. 

You writhe against him, grinding your hips into his as the warm heat that’s bloomed between your legs seeks contact. Your hands creep up his shirt and he shifts slightly, allowing you to tug it clear over his head and discard it at the side of your bed. He quickly returns the gesture and soon you both have the satisfaction of feeling your hot skin pressing together as you wrap your legs around him and roll your hips, running your hands down his muscled back, dragging your nails and then flattening your palms to absorb his body heat before meeting the curve of his ass and gripping to press him tighter between your open legs. 

“Hmm, so eager…” he murmurs into your ear as he nips at your lobe, sending shivers down your spine. His hand skims along your side until it meets the waistband of your shorts and he begins to tug them down, all the while ravaging your throat with nips and bites and nuzzles of his scratchy stubble. As he unbuttons the front of your shorts and slides his hand inside to tease your wetness, he moves back to your swollen mouth for another barrage of kisses that leave you light-headed with breathlessness. You feel like the only thing stopping you from passing out completely is the molten need that has you grinding yourself shamelessly against his rock-hard frame. 

There was no doubt about it. Sex with Bucky was a dangerous thing. Even more dangerous now that he’s worked your shorts off and is grinding into your bare crotch. You tug frantically at his belt and he grips you as he rolls you over, bringing you to straddle him as he shimmies his jeans down far enough to kick them off, gasping as you wrap a hand around his springing erection and begin to stroke. 

Seriously, James Buchanan Barnes has the most beautiful cock you’ve ever had the pleasure of handling. You stroke its silky softness fondly, prepping him for your mouth, but he’s got other ideas. He grabs you by both of your wrists and drags you up his body for a searing kiss while he removes your bra, the last piece of clothing between you. As soon as your breasts tumble free his mouth is on them, the shiver of pleasure being quickly overtaken as he grips his cock and pushes your hips into position over him for one scorching second before thrusting into you. 

You gasp, arching your back to bring him in deeper. His mouth releases your nipple with a pop as his head slams back into the mattress and his hips buck up, and from then on you both engage in a frantic rodeo ride as he places a bruising grip on your hips and thrusts, and you piston wildly in search of your peak, gripping the sheets on either side of his head, breasts bouncing in his face as he slams up into you.

“Oh, fuck…Bucky…” you moan, riding him. 

With a grunt he suddenly slows his pace, rolling you back over and holding your hands above your head as he ravishes your breasts, making shallow thrusts that leave you frustrated and have you trying to grind against him, encouraging a quicker pace.

“Oh god, Bucky…please…” you beg, pinned under his weight with your arms paralyzed in his cold metal super grip above your head. 

He thrusts into you hard, causing you to squeak out an “Oh!”, and then, still pinning your wrists, looks into your face. “Please what?” he asks, slightly breathless with his dark hair falling across his blue eyes. 

You’re past any point of pride you normally have, you’re deep in the territory of base, feral need. “Please fuck me harder. Break me if you have to.”

His eyes light up, the suggestion of that smug smile playing on his face as he teasingly thrusts into you again. “Like this?” He thrusts.

“Harder.” You breathe, squirming against him, trying to create more friction.

“Nnm-mmm…” he clucks, bearing down on you with his hips to press you more firmly into the mattress. “I’m going to need a little more from you this time around, darlin'.”

Your brain is frazzled. “What else do you need?” You’re fully wet and submitting and begging him to ruin you, you’re not entirely sure what else a man would want. 

“Were you happy to see me tonight?”

You’re puzzled. “I wasn’t unhappy,” you offer cautiously, your hips still trying to fight against his superior strength keeping you pinned, immobile, to the mattress as his cock twitched inside of you. 

He pulls out a little bit and you whine in protest.

“What am I to you?” he asks. 

Well, that’s complicated. Probably. What you knew was that you lived for his “visits”. There were nights spent alone that you desperately wished for his company. That you’d been out on dates with other men, trying to find a normal relationship, but the memory of him was always in the back of your mind and every man you’d met had been found lacking. You’d even, in super private moments, used toys to pleasure yourself while whispering his name, wishing he weren’t so elusive, so mysterious, so utterly unobtainable. But to tell him how often you thought of him would surely send him away in a panic. He was a total nomad. He didn’t want regularity. He wouldn’t want to come home to someone every night. 

“What do you want to be?” you breathe, buying time.

He rolls his hips and you feel every inch of him sliding out of and back into you. 

“I…I want you inside me.” You stutter as your eyelids flutter. 

He gives one more gentle thrust as he breathes his question, “Why?”

You’re buried under him. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s slowly sliding in and out of you. You’re both glistening with sweat, and he’s starting to shake with the effort of withholding the fierce pace he’d prefer to set.

“You feel good.” You breathe, arching your back again, closing your eyes.

“Is that it?” he asks, continuing a punishingly slow pace. 

What should you say? What is he asking for? You’re wondering what your response should be when you’re met with his soft lips enveloping yours. He kisses you deeply as he thrusts into you slowly, carefully, as his tongue meets yours and he sets a slow, almost lascivious pace before his mouth trails wet kisses along your jawline, your neck, suckling gently, like he’s worshipping your very skin. 

“Oh, god, James…I want you. All the time.” You break, arching up to meet his still agonizingly slow thrusts. 

He pulls his mouth away to look you in the eyes, “All of the time?” 

You can see that he’s pleased by the concept. Emboldened, you pull your hands from his grip and run your fingers gently through his hair before caressing his beautiful face, “All of the time. To the exclusion of others, in fact.”

You spy a ridiculously satisfied look on his face before he takes your lips up in a passionate kiss, and then you’re moaning as he pistons into you at a harder pace. You wrap your legs around him, trying to anchor yourself as he slams his impressive length into you, hitting all of the rights spots. You’re both making such satisfied sounds that you can’t tell who is louder, but to the both of you it doesn’t matter. Bucky is slamming into you and all of your pleasure sensors are going off. You want him to own you, damage you, your body is straining with the effort it takes to accommodate him, you have no sensible thoughts in your head, you just want Bucky, all of Bucky, to fill you with everything he can. 

Bucky arches his back and cries out, and you feel him fill you as he pins your thighs wide open with an iron grip. He continues to pump in and out of you, working past his climax, and ends up setting off your own ending. Your walls pulse around him and he nearly collapses on top of you as you writhe, gripping his luscious ass for maximum pressure. 

You both collapse on your bed, slick with sweat, and you embrace his weight as he rolls back on top of you. He settles there, like a human blanket. You feel thoroughly exhausted, your muscles melting into liquid as his manly smell wafts through your nostrils. 

If only you two could be like this always, you think, sedately. At the same time, you wonder how soon he’s going to excuse himself. You push away the horrible feeling that threatens to descend, trying to embrace the afterglow while you can.

“I never want to leave.” He murmurs into your shoulder as he brushes his lips across them, nuzzling as his stubble scratches. 

“Then don’t.” you say, running your hand along his spine, trying to relax him. 

“If I weren’t a wanted man I’d ask you to marry me. You’re my home. You’re my safe.” He places sleepy, wet kisses along your shoulder and you can hear in his voice that he’s utterly relaxed, utterly open. “Please know that.” 

He breathes into the night air and then falls asleep, his breathing settling into a steady rhythm as you absorb his words. Your heart swells as you lay there, wrapped up in the Winter Solider, fingers caressing his back as he slept. The world, for Bucky, was a dangerous place. As you drifted off to sleep, his slow steady breath blowing in warm puffs on the nape of your neck, you felt a strange kind of contentment that you could offer him someplace safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to make this a series because I'm interested in knowing how Reader and Bucky got to this point. So while this is technically the first part, the second part is a prologue detailing how they met. There will be a third part with smut, but I haven't decided what time period that covers yet. Thanks for reading!


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